


headwind

by TomBowline



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Anal Sex, Breathplay, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Canon, the most tender choking imaginable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 18:21:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29158089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TomBowline/pseuds/TomBowline
Summary: A special request.
Relationships: John Bridgens/Henry "Harry" Peglar
Comments: 8
Kudos: 46





	headwind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [salvage](https://archiveofourown.org/users/salvage/gifts).



> Happy birthday H!!! Thanks again for beta’ing my exchange fic. I hope this is to your liking!

“John?”

Henry’s voice was small, uncharacteristically timid. John stilled his hands where he was stroking down the crease of his lover’s bare thighs, easing open the strong and yielding core of him, and looked up the rolling field of Henry’s body to gaze into his face - nervous, almost absent. Thinking hard.

“Yes, my love?”

“Could we try something, tonight?” He had his face half in the pillow as he said it, craning his neck away to address the bedside lamp. “Say if you don’t want to and I won’t be grieved, it’s an odd sort of thing.”

John smiled indulgently. “It would help me to know what you’re thinking of first, Henry.”

“D’you know, um.” Henry was blushing a rarely-seen and shocking shade of scarlet, but his eyes were slanted to John with something like mischief. “When I’m sucking you. How I like to take you into my throat, until I can’t breathe?”

John nodded. He knew he was larger than some, and he had never been one to make a lad take more than he could handle, but Henry seemed to savor being stifled thus - he could spend, some days, just from swallowing John down until he was nose-to-belly and John could feel his beard on his thighs. A low pulse of heat burst in John to think of it, and he resumed the work of opening Henry on his three fingers, feeling out the dusk-pink hairy softness of his rim and the burning clutch beyond. 

Henry seemed to struggle with his thoughts for a moment - poor dear, John thought as he continued unflinchingly to finger him open - before he was able to mutter out his next words. “It makes it better for me. I don’t know why, but it does. When I’m dizzy with it, when I can’t get a breath.” John kept nodding - this much he knew, or suspected. “And I thought - if you did it with your hand, your hand on my neck while you’re fucking me.” A rush of breath, hands clutching nervous in the sheets. “I’d like it.”

John stilled his hand once more, to a tense huffing whine from his partner. Thought, for a long moment. “I’ll not hurt you?” A question asked and a line drawn. 

Henry shook his head, eyes wide and pleading. “No, love, swear. I’ll let you know it if it’s too much.”

Another long moment. A part of John, quite a large part, recoiled from it - but Henry was  _ asking.  _ John was very much inclined to give Henry anything he asked for, from here until the end of days. 

“You will have to guide me,” he warned Henry. “As to what will serve you best.”

Henry grinned up at him, quietly triumphant.

After those long minutes of distracted preparation, John slid into Henry like a wick into hot wax, as easy as anything. He set a deliberate rocking rhythm, feeling the excess oil drip down Henry’s downy crack and onto his stones with each thrust. All the while Henry was making his little noises, high grunts and huffs that were akin to sounds of greeting - after these long years, their bodies knew each other quite well enough to fit together in an expert-fashioned knot, but the fleshly reality of it never failed to bring sensation as intense as if it were brand new.

It was on the tails of this sensation - rhythm set, bodies once again growing used to their roles - that Henry caught John’s wrist in his hand, dark lidded eyes on his like a tease, and brought John’s broad hand up to his own slender throat. John’s hips stilled, his breath stuttered; he grasped Henry’s throat ever-so-carefully and began to tighten his grip.

It was exhilarating, wonderful in a way John had never imagined it could be. Henry’s life was in his hand, hot and strong and vital - pulse thudding boisterously against his palm, throat bobbing in a fluttering sucking gulp. True, it brought on a savor of fear in him to feel Henry struggling gamely for breath, but it was a controlled sort of fear; all the danger was in their own little room, in their own warm bed, in John’s own capable hand. Nothing frightful and formless was here, no icy tide of memory, only the grounding certainty of Henry’s throat in John’s hand and Henry’s hard prick against John’s belly. 

When John dared to roll his hips forward again he squeezed his grip gently tighter in time to the thrust. Henry twitched around him, heel juddering against John’s calf, and gave a thready little whine through the confinement of his grasp. The sound made something inside John flinch away, and he almost let go - but he caught a glimpse of Henry’s face, chin tipped back to bare his neck, smiling open-mouthed and so sweetly up at the ceiling, and whatever it was within him that had been fretting melted away into pure syrupy heat at the sight. 

“You’re taking it wonderfully well,” John ventured in a rough voice, trying to modulate his tone into the soothing one that made Henry go slack and blushing beneath him. “Let’s have a rest, hmm?” 

He was rewarded by raptures of all sorts from Henry as he loosened his grip at last. First was a flexing rejuvenation of his body like a sail filling with wind, his thighs clutching ‘round John’s middle and his belly surging up to meet John’s own, hot and lively in his sweat-sheened skin. The rush of air that John felt pouring into Henry’s throat - for he kept his hand upon it, just to feel the proof of its wonderful work - came back out in a ragged full-bodied whine, winding around words like  _ please _ and  _ love _ as a stream rushes past rocks and carries leaves along in its babbling shining path. Between them both, Henry’s cock was handsomely hard, blushed up pink and tight and leaking. And below, the silken cave of his body clutched at John’s own prick with jealous zeal - sending John’s head spinning, as it always did, with the reality of being so joined with the man he loved.

“Again,” Henry gasped, squirming up against John in a tacky slide of sweat and skin and downy hair. “John, please?”

John could refuse him nothing. His mind split windingly between driving into Henry at the perfect angle and closing Henry’s throat to the right degree, focused in hard and tight on making his love well and happy. He’d been years in the learning of it, and while this was a new expression, the essentials remained the same - soon enough Henry was bucking up hard beneath him, gasping out and groaning when he could, dribbling wanton seed from his cherry-pink head. He got one hand up on John’s wrist, and again John thought to release him, but—

“Gonna spend,” Henry muttered, half-wheezing. “Don’t let up, I’m almost, oh, lord, John.” He dropped his head back and panted out the words, his sweet hand tight and pushing John’s own to grip his neck. “Almost there. Please.” 

John squeezed down, felt the hammer of Henry’s pulse and saw his face go red. He thrust in slow and deep and strong, once, twice, again - and on the fourth, Henry went tight as a mainsheet around him and shuddered out his orgasm onto the soft freckled skin of his own belly and the hairy swell of John’s. John released him immediately and watched, enraptured, as he came through it. It was beautiful to see every time, the high point of his love’s pleasure, and the effects of this particular pursuit - Henry’s high and rasping little breaths, the hot damp redness of his cheek as he dropped his face into John’s cradling palm - made it more beautiful still.

John slipped himself out of Henry as gently as he could - a fine home he was, but his quiet squirming and twitching as he came down told John that he’d had his hospitality imposed on long enough for one day - and rolled onto his side, catching Henry’s lips in a consuming kiss. He took to tugging himself off against the soft plane of Henry’s hip, but soon enough his hand was usurped by Henry’s lax-limbed clutch and he surrendered to the intimate map of his lover’s callused hand. When he came it was onto Henry’s skin, with Henry’s dear eyes sparkling before him and Henry’s lips wet from kissing him. 

When at last he roused himself, all creaking joints and mussed hair, and went to fetch a basin of water, he knew Henry would be sprawled in bed when he returned, ready to submit to being cleaned (for his protests of self-sufficiency in this task had long given way to the fact of John’s experience and aptitude as a steward) and kissed and stroked over. When he blew out the lamp, the chill darkness wrapped around the two of them like a heavy uncertain cloak and it hardly mattered, for beneath the blankets he had Henry in his arms and at his side. He felt Henry’s breath smooth and even in the movement of his chest and belly, recalled the echo of where he had felt that rushing current heave and pull its reins under his touch. Nothing could disrupt it but by Henry’s own leave - nothing would be allowed to save John’s careful hand. 


End file.
